Occasionally, I’ll slip into a parish I’ve never visited before, pick up the bulletin, and find one of my Gospel reflections. My heart usually swells with a bit of affection for my creation. I imprint a bit of myself into my little “literary labors of love.” Anyone who has created something — a piece of writing, a garden, a meal, a child — knows that feeling. We love the things into which we put ourselves. We are happy when they return to us.

Some friends invited me to one of the most famous and expensive restaurants in the country. I was grateful and eager to go. One invited friend even flew from another state for the experience. Every bite and sip was truly memorable and delicious. But my friends’ teenage children spent much of the time on their phones, complained about the food, and generally ignored the once-in-a-lifetime experience. I wanted to yell, “C’mon, you guys! Look what you’re missing!”

Have you ever felt like your attempts at prayer are a waste of time? I have. Early in my priesthood, I noticed that my prayer life was weakening. Awe and eager expectancy of contact with God had given way to routine. I gradually spent less and less time praying. Nothing dramatic had happened, but my attitude toward God had changed, and I was losing the desire to pray.